Notes: Set post-Exit Wounds, but references an item used in Children of Earth, so consider this spoilery for CoE. This is both my way of exploiting that and fixing a bit of inconsistency with said item. I had this idea brewing in the back of my head and it came out today at work. Thank God no one can see my monitor from where I sit. Per my usual, a PWP with pretensions of meaning.

Pairing: Jack/Ianto

Rating: NC-17. Sexin'.

Disclaimer: Torchwood and its characters are the property of the BBC and Russell T. Davies. I make no profit from this fanfic.

"Are you watching me, Jack?"

Ianto's voice cuts across Jack's awareness in an entirely new way. Jack sits up, a prickle going down his spine. That was Ianto's voice-- A second later, he connects it to the DVD he'd just put into his computer. It was unlabeled, no notation of any kind, sitting on a stack of paperwork on his desk; he'd figured he'd check to make sure there was nothing on it, then put it back with the storage media. Instead, a picture now appears on his monitor and he realises that it must have been set to autoplay a video file.

The sight on his screen is odd and strangely first-person. Ianto's tall, lean figure stands reflected in a mirror in his flat: the tall one hung on the back of his bedroom door, if Jack remembers correctly. Hands come up to adjust the tie; everything's in perfect place. Ianto clears his throat and the sound is magnified, and then Jack gets it. Ianto's looking at himself. He's wearing the contacts.

Jack's supposed to object this sort of thing on general principle. Alien tech isn't supposed to be removed from the Hub under any circumstances, especially things like the contact lenses, of which they only have two pairs that aren't even exact duplicates. The set Martha used to help them take down the Pharm is the original; Tosh was working on replicating them, but had only succeeded in making a pair that could be used for video transmission, though they could still receive text and she'd added in lip-reading software. Ianto must be wearing the original set, Jack thinks now, since he can hear what Ianto's saying. And when did he do this--?

Any further questions are forgotten when Ianto's long fingers neatly loosen and remove his tie. Jack swallows hard and looks around. He finds his mouse under some reports and pauses the playback, tilts the monitor so it can't be seen from the door, then shouts Gwen's name as loud as he can.

Gwen appears in the door moments later. "What is it, Jack?"

"Have you seen Ianto?"

"Up in the office."

Jack nods. "Go on, get out of here. Take the afternoon off."

Gwen's eyebrow goes up. It's an oddly Ianto-like quirk that makes him wonder just how much they've been bonding lately. "It's not even half three."

"I'm sure." Jack grins his best magnanimous-boss grin and leans back in his chair, glad he's sitting deep enough under the desk that Gwen can't see just how excited he is. "Go. Give Rhys a kiss for me."

"He'll love that," she says, rolling her eyes, but she grins and backs out of the office, calling, "Have fun with Ianto, then!" as she goes. Within seconds, Jack hears her on her mobile, bootheels clicking as she heads for the cogwheel door. He waits until the door's rolled shut behind her before starting the video up again.

Jack kicks back in his chair to watch as Ianto's fingers work open the row of buttons on his waistcoat. Ianto shrugs out of his suit jacket, laying it neatly aside (a glance flicked to the clothes rack behind the door shows Jack his own clothes on the floor, and Jack smiles to himself at that domestic sight); the waistcoat follows in short order. So different to see this through Ianto's eyes; Jack can almost feel the nervousness in the slight tremble of Ianto's fingers as they rise to the top button of his crisp shirt and undo it, then the next and the next, fabric parting to reveal the thin vest beneath. Ianto and his layers. Jack loves stripping them from them as fast as possible; now, he's forced to watch as Ianto takes his time undressing. Ianto tugs the shirttails out from his trousers and discards the shirt; Jack mutters a curse when, instead of taking off the singlet, Ianto goes instead for his belt and unbuckles it, looping the worn leather from his trousers.

"Come on," Jack mutters, as if encouraging a sports team. He's rock-hard in his own trousers, but he forces his hands to remain on the desk. He has a ways to go yet, he's pretty sure.

He's startled suddenly by the sound of another voice: "Come on, Ianto." He knows that voice, it's his own coming out of the speakers -- apparently echoing the words he'd just spoken aloud -- and then Ianto's glance flicks again and oh fuck Jack thinks, because it all slots together now. Jack himself is stretched out on Ianto's bed, hands spread wide apart and bound to the bedposts. He's naked, of course; he'd been shaken by the scorching hotness of being completely nude while Ianto, still in his suit, tied him up, knelt between his legs and brought him off with just his mouth. Afterwards, he remembers Ianto standing and going to the mirror to undress--

"You had them in the whole time, you bastard," he hisses, his hand dropping below the desk to cover the unseemly bulge of fabric over his erection. He's half-tempted now to pause the recording, stalk up to the tourist office and repay Ianto in kind for this. But he can't resist the sight of himself in Ianto's eyes, and he keeps watching, fascinated, as Ianto slides off his trousers, drags the vest over his head (momentarily obscuring his sight with white fabric), then -- at last -- pushes off the briefs.

Jack sees it all in a kind of doubled vision: Ianto's view overlaid with his own memories of watching Ianto observe himself in the mirror. Ianto's hard -- was hard -- and in the video Jack watches Ianto's hand curl around his own cock, an almost dispassionate view except for the way the image flickers a little. Ianto's shaking. He looks down at his fist working himself and Jack experiences a wave of arousal so sharp and violent that he has to squeeze himself hard to keep from coming in his pants.

"Please," he hears himself say, weirdly disconnected, from behind Ianto. Ianto turns and looks fully at Jack for the first time, and Jack finds his own eyes sliding away from the view on the monitor. It's weird to see himself from this view. Sure, he's joked about how hot it would be -- even the Doctor flippantly told him once that Jack himself would be the only man he'd be happy with -- but right now it's beyond narcissistic, the ultimate vanity.

"What do you want, Jack?" Ianto asks. The sound of his voice is a little deeper, whether from arousal or from the resonance within Ianto's own skull Jack isn't sure and doesn't care. It's fucking hot.

"You," video-Jack grits. On the screen, he's spread wide, his skin flushed, his cock already starting to harden again. In his office, Jack allows to himself, all right, still pretty hot there, Harkness, and he gives in at last and undoes his belt and trousers. He spares a thought for Ianto in the tourist office and wonders when Ianto put the DVD on his desk, how long he's been planning this.

His attention is caught as Ianto moves, shifting forward; a few steps and he's next to the bed, opening the little wooden box he keeps on his bedside table for supplies. Breath catching, Jack presses his hand to his own cock; he remembers well what happened next, and he watches in fascination as Ianto kneels on the bed again, eyes greedily taking in Jack in a head-to-toe cataloging he's learned from Jack. The image shifts as Ianto leans in to kiss Jack, and when it suddenly goes dark, the sound of kissing makes Jack realise that Ianto's closed his eyes while they kiss. It's sweet. He loves that Ianto still does that, after all this time.

Ianto pulls back after a moment, though, and now his gaze is focused -- as is Jack's -- on his hands as he slicks up his fingers. Watching the hands, Ianto's long slender fingers shining with lube, Jack feels a dissonance as if he is Ianto, preparing himself. Ianto preparing Jack. This is what Ianto sees, how Ianto sees him. Video-Jack's voice is almost distant, a quiet groan, a low rasping plea, as Ianto pushes in one finger and then another, eyes trained to the place where he works those penetrating digits into Jack's body. It's the most immediate, intimate porn Jack's ever seen. He's had a lot of sex -- and that's putting it mildly -- but this is a sight he's never seen before and he's mesmerized. His hand pushes down on the waistband of his boxers without any more thought and he frees his erection, undoes a couple of the lower buttons on his shirt to make room for himself.

And he watches: watches himself shamelessly beg and moan; watches his own hips writhe, pushing down on Ianto's fingers; watches, at last, as Ianto smooths a condom on his cock and slicks more lube on himself with an accompanying hiss. Watches Ianto's hands push his own legs up, holding him behind the thighs, so that when Ianto pushes he can just give one smooth thrust and -- both of them moaning -- buries himself in Jack's body. The view is all over the place now, Ianto's gaze dropping to Jack's face, briefly blacking out when he closes his eyes to push hard, and the motion of fucking judders the video in an uneven rhythm. Jack thinks it again: This is what Ianto sees when he's in me-- and his hand speeds on his dick.

Jack's so focused on this now, lost in his memories of the encounter as much as the video replay, the sounds of Ianto's harsh breathing and his own gasps and mutters, that when Ianto pulls back and covers Jack's cock with a tight slick fist, he sees himself coming on screen and it's the trigger for his own orgasm. Jack arches back, gasping out, closing his eyes while the climax rockets through him.

He's still leaning back in the chair, sucking in air, when he hears a mouse-click and the sounds of sex from the computer stop all at once. Before he can lift his head to see what's happening, Ianto's mouth is on his -- a kiss he'd know anywhere -- and he groans raggedly, bringing his hand up to clutch Ianto's nape.

"I see you got my message," Ianto murmurs, his voice husky.

Jack laughs. "How long were you watching?" he asks, nudging his nose against Ianto's.

"Long enough." Ianto's cleaning him up now; Jack looks down to see the handkerchief swiping at the drops of semen on his shirt and shakes his head in amusement.

"Fucking voyeur," he says admiringly.

Ianto straightens, trailing his fingers along Jack's jaw; Jack leans up into the touch. "Maybe next time you can wear them," he says, and Jack's heart thumps hard.